Merry Christmas & Happy New Year!

Hello from Zanzibar!

We hope you had a wonderful holiday and a happy New Year! We look forward to giving you a report of our holiday travels as soon as we return, and in the meantime would like to leave you with an inspiring poem by activist and theologian Howard Thurman:

The Work of Christmas
by Howard Thurman

When the star in the sky is gone,
When the Kings and Princes are home,
When the shepherds are back with their flocks,
The work of Christmas begins.

To find the lost,
To heal the broken,
To feed the hungry
To release the prisoner,
To teach the nations,
To bring Christ to all,
To make music in the heart.

Teaching in Prison

For the past two weeks, Molly and I have been teaching at Kamfinsa State Prison, just outside of Kitwe. We go in twice a week, every Tuesday and Friday. We had been waiting for two months to get official permission to enter the prisons from the Zambian Ministry of Home Affairs, and our permission letters finally arrived in late November.

Molly and I are both teaching a class on preaching, which is one of the most popular TEEZ classes in the prison (I think one reason for this is that as people prepare to be released into an economy with over 50% unemployment, preaching is considered a marketable skill). Molly is teaching a class of 16 women and I am teaching a class of 15 men. Teaching at Kamfinsa presents a whole new set of challenges for us—moral, spiritual, and pedagogical.

The state of Zambian prisons is sickening. They are overcrowded, unsanitary, disease and abuse ridden. The system often doesn’t provide basic necessities like food, soap, or toilet paper, and inmates must rely on family or the churches to bring them. Prisoners sometimes resort to trading food and soap for sex, which leads to widespread health issues. (If you're interested, you can read more about the state of Zambian prisons by reading the Human Rights Watch report, "Unjust and Unhealthy," at http://www.hrw.org/en/reports/2010/04/27/unjust-and-unhealthy). Figuring out how to effectively minister in this environment, and to make our teaching relevant to it, is not easy.

While TEEZ course materials are generally well-written and very helpful to students, they are not designed for the prison context in particular. And though bringing educational opportunities to Kamfinsa is very needed and very appreciated by the inmates and staff, I feel compelled somehow to be more than merely a tutor in this place of distress and despair--I want to be a pastor too. The difficulty is that inmates do not seem particularly inclined to talk to me about their problems--not yet anyway. Despite the extreme hardship of life as a Zambian prisoner, most of the time when I arrive at Kamfinsa I am greeted by nothing but smiles. In part, I think this is due to genuine happiness to see me, and to the God-given human capacity to fight for joy in the midst of despair. But I also wonder if there is not something of a culture of false positivity at work, a compulsion to put on a happy "Christian" face, especially for those perceived as being authority figures--and as a male muzungu Reverend, whether I like it or not, this is how I am perceived.

Every class is divided into two parts: Part A on the art and craft of preaching, and Part B being a scripture study. While for Part A I have been standing in front of the class and "lecturing" as I am expected, for Part B I have begun sitting on the benches amongst the students, and conducting the study as a discussion rather than a lesson. Many of the students seem a bit unsure what to do with this--it's not a common pedagogical style in this culture. Even more surprising to the students is my occasional tendency to challenge the scriptural text, to say things like, "I get really frustrated with God here when he says..." or "Paul writes _______ here. Do you think that's really true?" I can almost hear the students thinking, "What kind of a Reverend is this?" But I am intent on modeling honesty, with myself, with scripture, and with life, because I don't think the Gospel is capable of transforming human life without it.

At the end of the class, before we close with prayer, I ask the students if there are any specific prayer requests, both so that whoever is praying us out can include them in the closing prayer, and so that I can keep them in my prayers over the course of the week. So far, the requests are pretty generic: "Pray for my family," "Pray for my wife who is sick," "Pray that God will make me a good Christian," etc. But I hope that maybe, as time goes on, as we get to know each other better, students will feel more able to open themselves up and allow each other to see more of themselves, their hopes, fears and deepest concerns. Perhaps this is a naive hope in a prison...I hope not.

An appeal: as mentioned above, the Zambian prison system often does not provide basic necessities for prisoners like food, soap and toilet paper, and inmates must often rely on family (if they have them) and the churches to provide such support. If you are so inclined, you may use the Pay Pal donation button on the right side of this blog to donate funds toward supplying Kamfinsa inmates with these materials.

Thanksgiving!

Well, we had an exhausting and wonderful Thanksgiving weekend! We started making preparations the week or so in advance. We organized a gathering for Saturday, since no one has Thursday and Friday off in Zambia. On Thursday, Thanksgiving day, we faithfully went in to work, and stayed late that evening to video chat online with our families (we did this on Saturday as well). We ate peanut butter sandwiches and apples in the heat and rain while we talked to our relatives who were wearing sweaters and full of turkey!

Meanwhile, the search was on to find a turkey of our own. Our friend Cheryl had purchased a live turkey at the market a few years back, with the first GMF, Carmen. The stories she told about the experience were a little discouraging—she said it had cost a LOT (over $60!), had been very difficult to kill, and ended up tasting tough and stringy. We checked the supermarkets, but they all said they wouldn’t have frozen turkey till around Christmas time. We put out feelers with some of our Zambian friends if they knew anyone who raised turkeys, but again came up empty.

After all of this, we resigned ourselves to have a nice chicken instead. But then our friend Jenny heard a familiar “gobble gobble” sound on her way to work. She works at the UCZ Theological College, which is next to our office, and on whose small campus we also live. When she looked across the street, there were several turkeys just hanging out! We investigated and found out that the family raising the turkeys would sell us a large male bird, just over a year old, who had started getting aggressive—chasing and attacking people, mostly women—literally biting the hand that feeds it! So they were willing to sell him, and I was able to negotiate with the wife for a very fair price.

Here is our turkey.

On Friday after work, we brought the bird home. Charity, our housekeeper, was there to help us kill and “dress” the bird. We also had considerable help from Evans, Michael & Kaluba—men who work for the UCZ Theological College doing maintenance and grounds-keeping. Apparently Michael is very skilled at killing animals—in his compound, whenever someone has to kill a chicken or goat or something, they ask him over to help. So we were very grateful to have his help. They tied the turkey’s legs together and tied it to the trunk of a bush, then Evans held it down while Michael swiftly cut its neck. Since it was held down, it didn’t run around “like a chicken with its head cut off” but just twitched some. It was hard for Ryan and I to watch, but we were determined to do, help with, or at least witness the whole process.

Next we “dressed” the turkey—though we agree a better term is to “undress” the turkey, since once you’re done you have a naked bird! We poured boiling water over the turkey and proceeded to pluck out all the feathers. Charity and Kaluba were so fast and skilled I think I only pulled out less than a quarter of the feathers. Then Charity performed “surgery” as she called it, removing the guts, and separating out the heart, gizzard and liver (the good stuff to keep and eat) from the intestines and other innards—some of which were still filled with warm grass from the turkey’s lunch! Charity is very skilled at this, as she has her own chicken business for which she raises and sells chickens—for an extra fee, she will kill and dress your bird.

(Dad, I am including one picture below of the “blood and guts” for you.) We decided not to take any photos or video of the actual death because it seemed somehow a violation. Oh—one crazy thing—the turkey’s head was very brightly colored, blue and red, but once it was cut off, all the color left it and it was just white! (That photo will be available to interested parties by request only).

Removing the guts from the featherless bird.

Charity with the "dressed" turkey.

Then we took our undressed bird to the Smith’s house to brine* overnight in their fridge. We submersed it in a large bucket with water, salt, sugar, cloves, cinnamon, bay leaves and lemons (well, limes). This was one heavy bucket—the bird itself was probably about 10kg (~22 lbs) plus about 3 gallons of water plus the brick we used to keep the bird underwater—let’s just say you shouldn’t put something this heavy on a poorly supported glass shelf in your fridge. The shelf broke the moment the bucket barely touched it. So we removed the shelf and set the bucket on the bottom of the fridge. (Fortunately, Peter fixed the shelf with some duct tape and a couple wooden boards.)

*FYI—brining is an important step with a fresh turkey, because usually the ones that you buy frozen in the supermarket have already been “processed” with all sorts of things to make them moist and buttery. The brine helps keep the turkey moist while roasting and brings out the flavor. Ingredients for the brine.

Saturday morning, we went back bright and early to the Smiths, rubbed the bird down with herb butter, and stuck it in the oven. Not only were the Smith’s hosting the gathering, they also had a fridge and an oven large enough for the tasks! About 5 hours later, we had a delicious, golden brown roasted turkey. Grandpa Ed was wondering how it tasted—well, we are pleased to say it tasted very good. Moist and flavorful and buttery. We weren’t able to eat the skin though—it was tough and rubbery, not thin and crispy. We don’t know if that was because it was a fresh “cage-free” bird, or because of how we cooked it.

Molly rubbing the turkey with herb butter.

Ta-da! Our beautiful and delicious turkey.

We also had several favorite traditional side dishes. Our friend Ann (from New Mexico) brought corn custard, twice-baked potatoes, and apple pie. We were still dreaming of that pie the next day! Ryan and I made green bean casserole, Swiss vegetable medley, and Grandma Betty’s refrigerator rolls. Our prep for these dishes began earlier in the week with a trip to the market. The ingredients were all fresh, since there are no canned french fried onions to be found here, and we didn’t discover until later that one could buy canned cream of mushroom soup! So we made both of these from scratch—we spent about 4 hours cooking. We had the most gourmet casseroles ever! And they tasted perhaps even better than the “original” recipes.

Chisikone market

Huge mushrooms at the market.

Making french fried onions.

Ryan punching down the dough for rolls.

Molly kneading the dough.

Making rolls.

After all that hard work, we had a delightful meal—though as usual, it seemed short in comparison to how long we spent preparing for it. In attendance on Saturday were the Smiths, Ann, Adrian (from the UK), Violet (from Zambia) and us. Unfortunately, we forgot to take a photo of all of us at the table! (As it is, everyone except Ann and Cheryl appears somewhere in the posted photos). We went around the table and everyone shared something they were thankful for, and afterward, we even watched some football! Soccer, that is—we watched as Manchester United beat Blackburn in what was almost a shut-out. In the end, they won 7-1, and one of the players almost beat the record for most goals (5) in one game—which would have been a “double hat-trick”, 6 goals.

On Monday, we had another meal, with everyone who helped with the turkey. We prepared the remaining turkey and made some more mashed potatoes, gravy and stuffing, and enjoyed sharing our traditional food with more Zambian friends. After such a lunch we were all stuffed and barely able to return to work very productively! I almost forgot to take a photo of this gathering too, but got one of Ryan with the guys afterward.

All in all it was quite a lovely Thanksgiving. We are especially thankful for the opportunity to be here in Zambia: for the joys and the challenges around every corner; for the new friends, community and gracious hospitality we've found after being here only a few months; for the chance to share stories and life and faith with our brothers and sisters in Christ.

Peter Smith carves the turkey.

The Smith boys, Jason (in yellow) & Brendan (in red), in line to get some food.
Adrian and Violet are in the background.

Ryan with Kaluba and Evans, who helped with the turkey prep.
Michael was not feeling well that day, so we packed him a box to go.

Thanksgiving dinner plate. Turkey with stuffing and gravy, roll, green bean casserole, Swiss vegetable medley, corn custard and twice-baked potatoes. Yum!

Employing "Domestic Staff"

We have a gardener, named Morgan Ngambi, and a housekeeper, named Charity Nachela. Charity comes for part of 2 days each week, and Morgan is around 3 or 4 days a week for an hour or so. It is a new experience for us to employ others to do our "chores," but there are a couple reasons why it is important/good.

Reason 1 is best described in the following passage, from a fictional story set in neighboring Botswana:

It was inconsiderate not to have a gardener if, like Dr Ranta, you were in a well-paid, white-collar job. It was a social duty to employ domestic staff, who were readily available and desperate for work. Wages were low--unconscionably so, thought Mma Ramotswe--but at least the system created jobs. If everybody with a job had a maid, then that was food going into the mouths of the maids and their children. If everybody did their own housework and tended their own gardens, then what were the people who were maids and gardeners to do?

--from Tears of the Giraffe, 2nd in the "No. 1 Ladies Detective Agency" series by Alexander McCall Smith, p206.


Reason 2 is simply because it is time-consuming and usually back-breaking work. For example, the "wash" or the laundry is done by hand. I've tried hand at it a few times--when we needed some things washed before our trip to Ghana, and while we were traveling--definitely HARD work. I had to be careful not to break my back, literally. Though Ryan complemented me for getting out a tough stain just as well as Charity can, I have even more respect for her now that I've done a piece of the work she does for us.

I am SO very thankful for our "domestic staff."

Thank you, Charity! Thank you, Morgan!

Abundant Fruit from Mixed Soil

Each of the six sister institutions on the MEF campus (UCZ Theological College, Anglican Seminary, YWCA, Mindolo Ecumenical Foundation, Copperbelt Presbytery and TEEZ) are invited to come together on the first Friday of the month for a joint worship service. The institutions rotate leadership each month, and TEEZ was in charge of leading the service in November. Molly preached, and Ryan helped lead worship, along with others from our office.

The following is the text from Molly's sermon. Read Mark 4:1-20 first.

Abundant Fruit from Mixed Soil
By Molly Dowell Baum
TEEZ-led ecumenical chapel, Kitwe, Zambia, 5 Nov 2010

"Anyone with ears to hear, listen!" This refrain echoes throughout Mark 4. It is an appeal for hearing. It is directed 1) to the crowd, 2) to Jesus’ inner circle of followers, and 3) to us, the readers of Mark. But there is a major problem: the hearers don’t get it! And Jesus says: If you don’t understand this parable, “how will you understand all the parables?” (13). Jesus’ question is about their ability to hear, to comprehend, to shape their lives entirely according to God’s will.

Even the disciples don’t get it! When we study Mark's gospel, we find this theme of the disciples failing in their ability to hear, comprehend, and shape their lives according to God’s will. Constantly they question and doubt. It can be pretty comical how block-headed they are- and boy does it frustrate Jesus! The disciples are the epitome of failed hearing. They are the members of the inner circle, to whom Jesus "explained everything privately" (4:34) yet Judas betrays, all the disciples flee at Jesus’ arrest, Peter denies—even the faithful women run frightened from the tomb and "say nothing to anyone" (16:8).

In a huge way, it was the disciples who can be identified as the ones in vs. 12 who:

may indeed look, but not perceive,
and may indeed listen, but not understand;
so that they may not turn again and be forgiven.

Jesus was quoting Isaiah, who was speaking of Israel, the chosen people, the insiders. And in fact, the “outsiders” Jesus refers to were also the insiders, the disciples, the very same to whom "the secret of the kingdom of God" has been given (4:11). The disciples don’t get it. Their soil doesn’t produce much fruit.

But the disciples are not alone. They are not the only disciples to fail in their ability to hear, comprehend, and shape their lives entirely according to God’s will. They are not the only soil that produces little fruit.

We don’t get it either. We get it wrong when we want the stuff God can give us, more than we want God for Godself. In that moment, the word is choked by thorns. We get it wrong when we are so concerned with talking about God the right way, using the right model, having the right liturgy, that we forget ministry is about relationship and service with God’s people. In those moments, our roots are not deep enough, struggling on rocky soil. We get it wrong and fail to hear, comprehend, and shape our lives entirely according to God’s will when we are overly critical of those who are different from us, or when we are short-tempered with our loved ones and neighbors, or when we are just too tired from all the good ministry we are doing. In those moments, the word sown in us is immediately snatched away. In these and countless other ways, we are too often the disciples who fail.

Even Mother Teresa didn’t fully get it. Mother Theresa, the little old nun who founded the Missionaries of Charity and was an inspiration to the world. She worked tirelessly with love and joy caring for those who are called untouchables in India. She didn’t fully understand, didn’t feel confident in her faith. Some call hers a “crisis of faith,” others a “dark night of the soul.” It spanned for forty years--during the entire time of her ministry, until the day she died. Her smiling face showed a woman confident of her faith, but her personal letters showed otherwise. She wrote:

The damned of Hell suffer eternal punishment because they experiment with the loss of God. In my own soul, I feel the terrible pain of this loss. I feel that God does not want me, that God is not God and that he does not really exist.

In another letter to a spiritual confidant, she wrote

Jesus has a very special love for you. [But] as for me, the silence and the emptiness is so great, that I look and do not see, — Listen and do not hear — the tongue moves [in prayer] but does not speak ...

Even Mother Teresa felt that she did not hear. She identified herself as the one outside, without understanding of the secret of the kingdom of God. Just as in Mark’s gospel, today we see that every disciple has failed to hear in some way.

But failure is not the last word in this text. Imagine again in your mind the sower going out to sow. The field is one of a group of miniature fields, sandwiched next to the house, around the lean-to where a few animals sleep, upon a steep hill, and right up against the path leading to the village square. There is a shortage of plowland in ancient Palestine, so the family must plow and sow every bit of land that might grow seed—even the more rocky part near the hill, and around the island of thorny bushes too deeply entrenched and prickly to be removed with bare hands or primitive tools. So with one swing of the farmer’s arm, some seed is sown on the unplowed path, some among the thorns, some on the rocky ground, and some on the good soil.

Most of the seed likely fell on the good soil--the loss of seed was not THAT great. Furthermore, the seed that fell on the good soil was abundant! Vs 8 says the good soil “yielded thirty-, sixty- and a hundred-fold” (4:7). A hundredfold yield per seed was a rich harvest. It was certainly beyond the every day, but not beyond the possible. This parable that Jesus tells could have been the actual experience of a Palestinian farmer listening. The planting area was mixed overall—though some soil was fruitless, some was abundantly fruitful. This is good news.

We can think of the field as the whole area in which seed landed, as a complete unit. Likewise, the word is sown in the complete unit of a person—a person who has within her or himself some parts which are fertile soil, while other parts are rocky, unplowed, or thorny.
The disciples were not merely rocky ground. They were fields of mixed soils. If all the disciples fled, and told “nothing to anyone” then how can we explain the existence of Christianity to this day? The same disciples who failed according to Mark’s gospel, were nevertheless successful in passing on the tradition of Jesus’ life and ministry. Their fruit was abundant. They were given some measure of success in hearing, understanding and living out the good news. And the measure they gave was given back—and MORE!

We could certainly say the same of Mother Teresa—now called Blessed Teresa of Calcutta, on her way to sainthood. She was fruitful despite her failure. She won the Nobel Peace Prize in 1979 for her humanitarian work. And her Missionaries of Charity continued to expand—at the time of her death it was operating over six hundred (600) missions in one hundred twenty-three (123) countries. There is no doubt that overall, Mother Teresa bore fruit far more abundant than the failure she felt. Certainly all disciples are a field of mixed soil, and the word that falls on good soil produces abundantly.

Now, we probably don’t consider ourselves on par with Mother Teresa, but that doesn’t undermine the fertile soil that is producing fruit within us. Yes, it can be painfully obvious to us the ways we fail in our ability to hear, to comprehend, to shape their lives entirely according to God’s will. But we who are the outsiders who don’t get it, are at the same time the insiders to whom Jesus is giving the secret of the kingdom of God. We are fields of mixed soil. We are hearers of the word. The sower has only the miniature field to work with. God has only imperfect humans. But, with God’s help, that is enough to produce abundant fruit. So let us go out— forgiven through Christ in the ways we fail, nurtured by the Spirit to be fertile soil in which God’s word will produce abundant fruit.
Amen.

My exegesis and understanding of this parable was greatly influenced by Luise Schottroff's book, The Parables of Jesus, Minneapolis, Augsburg Fortress, 2006.